Jacked Off By Hyde
by Aryea
Summary: A request from a friend to describe Christian's feelings after Jack attempted to kidnap Ana. Rated M for language, dark thoughts and of course, adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

This is a request from a good friend officeladyprobz . Sorry I have been away for awhile, a lot going on. Will try and get more Fifty stories posted soon.

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**CHAPTER 1**

Christian bolted off the elevator and flew up the stairs to the master bedroom. He came to a sudden stop just outside the door, took a deep breath and slowly pushed it open.

She was there. Dear God, she was there. He'd been given the reports that Hyde was in custody and Anastasia had been unharmed, but he didn't trust verbal confirmations; he'd needed to see her with his own eyes.

He stepped inside the darkened room, moved to the large bed and reached for the side lamp. His hand trembled as it pushed the switch then he pulled it into a fist. The soft illumination flowed over the bed, not bright enough to awaken her, but light enough that he could properly see her face.

She was curled up, as she often was, in the fetal position on his side of the bed; one hand under her cheek and the other gripping the corner of his pillow. Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees and touched her pale face. No marks, no bruising, so she had been uninjured. The idea of Hyde putting hands on her, of that monster marking her in anyway caused his blood to boil.

She was dressed in one of his shirts and, for some reason that made him angry. How could she do this to him? How could she wear his shirt as she slept, pretend that she cared for him, missed him, then show complete disregard for him?

His hand touched her wrist, curled and tightened. Why couldn't she listen to him? Why did she always have to disobey? When she whimpered in her sleep he realized that he was hurting her and quickly released his grip. No. He needed to step back. Needed to regain control before he...

Unable to think straight, unable to consider the consequences of what he was feeling at that moment he rose, turned off the light and stepped out of the room. What the hell was happening to him? His whole body seemed to be vibrating from some unknown source. His gut clenched so tightly he felt he might purge at any moment.

Half stumbling down the stairs on legs that were no longer steady he headed into his study and closed the door. He leaned against it, closed his eyes and fought for control.

"Washington. Adams. Jefferson." He moved to the small mini bar, poured himself a glass of wine, hoping the gentle, smooth taste would calm him. "Madison. Monroe. Quincy Adams."

He drank the wine, finished the entire glass and closed his eyes. Trying to concentrate on the texture, the taste, the flavors that exploded on his tongue, he whimpered that all he could taste was ash. He may as well have been drinking toilet water.

He needed to find the control. Need to find the center of his universe again, to calm his mind, his heart, his rage.

"Van Buren, Harrison. No. No fuck!"

He had to calm the fuck down, but how could he? How could he be calm knowing that his wife could have been, hurt, raped, murdered by that sick, twisted son of a bitch? Oh, but weren't they of the same cloth, he and Hyde? Wasn't he just as sick and twisted? He liked hurting young women. He liked inflicting pain.

No. No that was different. He was nothing like Hyde. He never went against the woman's wishes, but Ana went against his every time; every damn time! Why couldn't she listen? Why was it impossible for her to just do as he asked? Did she think he told to do these things just to amuse himself? Did she think he liked making demands of her? Couldn't she understand that he was trying to protect her?

He stalked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself two fingers of whiskey. The intense rage inside of him turned to fear, to desperation. What if Sawyer and Ryan hadn't been with Anastasia when she returned? What if she had actually listened to him and done as she had promised, as he'd ordered, and stayed home? Jack Hyde would have kidnapped her, hurt her, and based on what they found in the bastard's van, raped her. And it would have been his fault!

With a trembling hand he raised the glass to his lips, sipped the dark amber liquid, to prove that he could; to show he had control. Because he wanted to down it, wanted to toss it back and let it burn all the way down his throat. And so, he sipped.

He dropped down into his desk chair and started another test. "Perti. Siret, Mascitti. Pepusch. Bach."

The flight had taken too long. He'd need to do something about that. It had taken far too long for him to get back home, back to Ana. He hadn't been here for her, hadn't protected her and while he realized that he couldn't be everywhere at once he still felt like a failure.

Another sip and this time he lay his head against the back of the chair, closed his eyes, and let the whiskey roll around on his tongue, before swallowing. Savour the moments. Savour the memories. Grace had always told him that, only now did it seem to make sense. The idea that he could have lost Ana to a monster made him realize how easily he would cease to exist. He couldn't imagine life without her, couldn't imagine himself alive without her.

If only she would listen! The rage boiled up so fast it nearly stole his breath, and the glass was out of his hand and shooting across to the nearest wall before he realized what was happening. Springing to his feet he stared at the shattered pieces and the stain of whiskey across the floor. Why? Why was he feeling like this? Why couldn't he get control?

He crossed over, knelt and began picking up the pieces, just as Mrs. Davis entered.

"Are you all right, Sir?" she asked quietly.

"Yes I..." Mother of Christ! Was that shaky, scratchy voice him? "I...I've had an accident. I'll...clean it up."

She was upon him in moments with a broom, dustbin and mopping cloth. "Here now, don't you fuss. I'll take care of that."

He rose, shakily. "I'm sorry, Gail. I..."

She cleaned up the mess in seconds. "It's been a hard day, Sir. Why don't you try and get some sleep?"

He nodded, embarrassed and grateful at the same time. He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezed then left the room.

Without realizing where he was going he headed to his playroom. He switched on the light, closed and locked the door and leaned against it. Memories of other women, other brunettes strapped to the tables, in the harnesses, begging, pleading him as he whipped them, stroked them, beat them into submission.

He had never felt like this with any of them. He had never had to lecture them or coerce them or argue with them to listen. Here it had been simple; here he had been free to do whatever he wanted to them without fear of repercussions because they had agreed to it. Many of them had signed up for it, most of them had enjoyed it.

His hands itched for the handle of a cat-o-nine-tails, or a paddle. He remembered the sounds of their flesh as he hit them with various instruments, the cries of their ecstasy as he withheld their orgasms for his own self gratifications of watching them gasp and squirm. The control he had, the lovely, ruling power he could command in this room, where no one could hurt him, no one could touch him, or force him to do anything he didn't want to do. No one disobeyed, no one lied, no one died and left him to starve in with the roaches and the filth and the heavy smell of alcohol and tobacco.

He shook that image away and pictured Anastasia in here, helpless and naked, as he stood above her and made her pay for every fear he had experienced on the flight here. Make her scream for every piece of control she had managed to shatter inside him, and for every time she disobeyed him.

He shut his eyes tightly, heard the sobs tearing from her when he had used a cane. Felt the devastation all over again when she left him. Because he'd hurt her. Because he'd lost control. He couldn't do that again, he couldn't...Jesus God! He looked down at his hands; they were trembling with rage, a rage that he wanted to take out on Anastasia, the woman he loved.

How dare she do this to him! How dare she threaten the fragile balance he had managed to gather against the demons that hunted him, the horrific thoughts and desires that made him a sadist! He had changed for her, to be with her! And she kept tormenting him, lying to him, not listening to him. She was trying to break him again, turn him back into the man he was before.

Pushing pout of the playroom he quickly locked it up again and strode down the hall, afraid, so afraid of losing himself in that person again. That person he was before he met Anastasia, before he became...better.

He returned to the Great Room, poured himself another glass of whiskey and then slowly climbed the stairs to their bedroom. He left the lights off as he entered and settled in a chair by the bed. Crossing his ankle over his knee, he sat back and watched his wife sleep as his thoughts continued to torment him, as his rage continued to burn.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you everyone for the kind reviews. This scene takes place in Fifty Shades Freed, after Ana wakes up and speaks to Christian briefly before he tells her to go back to sleep. I rated this story with an M because there is strong language and very dark/adult themes, so you have been warned. _

_Anyway, here is the next installment. I hope you enjoy it!_

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_**CHAPTER TWO**_

She was mad at him? She was mad at _him_? Christian was so furious he was shaking. How could she be fucking mad at him?

Christian stalked into the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of milk. He grabbed two of Gail's homemade cookies and settled at the breakfast bar. He broke one of the cookies in half and dunked it into his milk, before popping it in his mouth.

He took a long, slow deep breath. It had taken everything he had not to crawl into bed with Anastasia, with his wife, especially when she crawled into his lap like a helpless child, like a perfect submissive, but he was afraid. He was so afraid he would hurt her if he gave into the urges, really hurt her. He wanted to strip her naked and fuck her senseless, prove that she was his, that she was all his and no one else could touch her.

He had wanted to lose himself in her and forget all the earlier fear, the sense of powerlessness she had caused inside him. He was so extremely grateful that she was okay, and yet he still wanted to hurt her, to punish her for making him feel these things.

So, no, he didn't make love to her, didn't touch her beyond the basic comforts, because he needed to get control of his anger and this feeling of...Helplessness? Blame? Betrayal? What the hell was this he was feeling anyway?

He dunked the second half of his cookie in the milk and pulled out his cell phone, intending to call Flynn, then just as quickly snapped it closed and placed it back in his belt pouch. No. Flynn would be sleeping, and while that alone would not normally bother him, he felt his instinct to call his shrink was a sign of weakness. Just one more loss of control.

He needs to hit something, or have something hit him. He needs to feel physical pain to block out emotional pain; at least that's what Flynn always says. Finishing off the milk, he popped the second cookie in his mouth and took the elevator down to his personal gym. He changed into workout sweats from the several pairs he kept in a locker there.

He tapped his knuckles and moved to the hanging bag to start a series of warm up punches. With each one a vision of what they found in Hyde's van exploded in his brain. Hyde was going to kidnap Ana, rape her and then what...kill her? Mutilate her? Hold her ransom or blackmail? The possibilities of what could have been done to her while he was stuck in New York or in the air and helpless to keep her safe...

The punches grew faster and more furious, until he was physically panting with exertion, adrenalin and anger. And what if she had been here? What if she had done as she was told? Would Hyde have gotten in without Sawyer and Prescott knowing? Would he have been able to kidnap Ana out from under them?

He shook the sweat out of his eyes and on one final punch, left the bag and moved to his karate dummy. He needed to center himself, regain control and quell the rage that still burned inside him.

After almost an thirty minutes of beating something, and finding it wasn't working. He dropped down on the mat, physically exhausted and once again dialed Dr. Flynn. He didn't care what time it was, he paid the psychiatrist enough to call him whenever he wanted.

"Hello Christian," John Flynn greeted calmly.

"Get here. Now." Christian snapped the phone closed and lay back with his arm over his eyes.

Immediately an image of Ana bound, gagged and screaming while Jack Hyde screwed her on a dirty mattress filled his mind. Suddenly, there was the glint of a knife and Christian's eyes flew open, but not before seeing the knife plunge into his wife's belly.

He rolled to his feet, ran for the interior washroom and proceeded to vomit violently. Luckily, there was not much in his stomach, so it switched to dry heaves within seconds after the initial explosion. He dropped back on the tile floor and held his head.

"What's happening to me?" he whimpered and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Ana...what did you do to me?"

After a few minutes, he managed to rise, rinse his mouth and splash his face with water, but his hands were still shaking. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and didn't even recognize himself. He was pale, haggard looking. There were shadows under his eyes and those eyes...they were...wild, agonized. He closed them and looked away.

Why was he feeling like this? What was this? Was it just anger? Was it just fear? What was this shit?

"Mr. Grey?"

He started, then looked back out to the gym area.

"Mr. Grey?"

He straightened and walked back across the gym floor to the wall intercom. "What?"

"Sir. Dr. Flynn is here to see you."

"Send him down to the gym."

"Yes, sir."

Christian moved back to the mats and sat cross legged. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to pull himself back enough to face the good doctor.

Flynn mildly hummed to himself as he took the elevator down to the basement. He didn't live far from Escala, he used to, but when Christian Grey became his client, it was insisted that he move closer.

He stepped out into the gym, saw the man seated on the mat, his arms loosely on his knees, his eyes closed. Oh dear, he was using meditation, or trying to. This was going to be a bad one.

"Christian."

Christian opened his eyes, looked up and watched as Flynn, wearing jeans, a polo shirt and a light jacket, settled opposite him in the same position. "Make it stop."

"Certainly." Flynn leaned forward, gently tapped Christian on the forehead. "You are healed. Feel better?"

Christian smirked and found some relief in it, but it just as quickly faded. He quickly explained the situation with Ana and Hyde and Flynn listened quietly, nodding occasionally.

"I'm so...furious, John. I mean...beyond...so far beyond anything I have ever felt before." He shook his head. "And I keep thinking...keep seeing her with Hyde...what he could have done to her. What she would have gone through..."

"That's understandable, Christian. Your wife could have been seriously injured."

"No! I mean...I yes, but It's Ana that I'm angry with. I...I want to..." Christian's voice grew softer. "I want to hurt her, John. Really hurt her, like..." He shook his head. There was simply no way to explain the amount of rage inside of him.

"That's a natural reaction."

"Natural!"

"For you, Christian Grey, yes it is natural. Your main source of emotion has come from your activities with your submissive. When you had a bad day or a good day, you reflected it onto them, so you didn't have to actually feel it."

"This was more than a bad day, John."

"I agree, but it doesn't change your reaction. You instinctually retreat to your, shall we say, comfort zone, which is being a dominant. If a submissive disobeyed you or made you feel something you were uncomfortable with, you punished her for it. Right now, it's easier for you to view Anastasia as one of your submissives."

"No." Christian shook his head. "She isn't...she was never like them. She's different, she always has been. That's why I love her, why I married her."

"Of course, but you still need an outlet for what you are feeling, so you automatically go back to what you have used before."

"I don't want to go back to that, John." He had worked so hard not to go back to that. "I...Ana will leave me if I...if I go back to that." He moaned. "But I still want it. I still think about...doing things that I can't do! Not with Ana."

"Christian, your need to control will always be an issue and as for the rest...well, think of it as if you were an alcoholic. You can't just quit and expect the urge to drink to go away. You have to work at it, every day."

"I'm not a fucking alcoholic!"

Flynn lifted his hands, peaceably. "I said, consider it as if you were one. Being a dominant has been your lifestyle for several years, and before that you were a submissive. You can't just switch it off."

"I need to! I can't feel these things and be with Ana!"

"Honestly, Christian, I think what you are feeling now is more just an automatic response for you to fall back on when you are faced with something you can't control. It doesn't mean you want Ana to be a submissive or that you actually want to hurt her."

"I...I just want her to be safe! I just want to protect her!"

"And there is nothing wrong with that, Christian. You need to feel you are in control, you always have, and Anastasia seems to have come to terms with that part of you."

"But she never listens!" Christian fisted his hands. "If she understands, why won't she ever listen?"

"That is something you need to discuss with her. What I can tell you, is that a real relationship, with a real woman, one outside of the kind you are used to, is riddled with disagreements, carnivorous miss understandings and a constant struggle for control."

"I just want her to listen and do as I tell her to do! What she promises me she will do!"

"She isn't a puppy, and she isn't one of your submissives. If you want her to listen to you and do as you say, ask her, don't tell her, Christian. We've talked about this before."

"I did ask her!" he almost screamed. He had practically begged her to listen to him and stay at home, but if she had been at home, Hyde would have. "She deliberately broke her word! She deliberately..." He paled as the fear it him, the agony and self doubt. "He could have...If she was here...Christ!"

Christian rose abruptly and started to pace.

"Ah." It dawned on Flynn what the real problem was. "If she had listened to you she may have been kidnapped by Hyde and that would have been your fault."

Christian spun around. "I was trying to protect her from him. That's why I asked her to stay in tonight. I had all the data, read all the reports and even discussed it in part with you. I made a decision, a good decision, the right decision, God damn it!" He slammed his fist into the punching bag.

"A decision that could have cost you your wife," Flynn finished quietly.

"How...how could I have misread the situation? I make billion dollar decisions all the time. How could I have been so...so wrong?"

Flynn finally rose. "Christian, this wasn't a question of right or wrong. No one can guess the actions of a madman. He could easily have taken her while she was out..."

Christian flinched, put his hand out and stepped away. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't consider that Hyde would have gotten to Anastasia either way because that was giving even more control over to him.

"What are you really angry about?" Flynn asked, and stood behind the punching bag, tapped it encouragingly. "About Anastasia disobeying you, about Jack Hyde getting past your security or you possibly making the wrong decision?"

"Neither." Christian hit the bag, lightly at first, then harder. "All. I don't know. I just know that I've never felt...anything like this before. I can't seem to..." He punched the bag twice more, hard enough to move Flynn backwards. Whenever I get near Anastasia I...I feel sick. I feel angry and sick and...I don't know what it is. I don't know what this fucking feeling is!"

"Horror? Terror?" Flynn asked mildly. "Doubt? Insecurity? Grief?"

"What is this, multiple choice?"

Flynn smirked, then winced as Christian's punch almost pushed the bag through his spleen. "It..." He wheezed, cleared his throat. "My point is, that in a situation like this, it's natural, for _everyone_, to feel all of these things."

"Well, I don't like it. I don't want it. Damn it, do something!"

Flynn smiled, amused. "What would you like me to do?"

"Make. It. Stop." This time, Christian hit himself, punching his chest with each word. "I'm afraid to touch my wife, John. I'm afraid this...this...whatever this is will come out and I will hurt her!"

"You don't want to hurt her?"

"No!" Yes, his mind screamed, but his heart immediately countered it. If he hurt her she would leave him again. If he went too far he would lose her forever. He couldn't risk that. He had to control the anger, and the fear and whatever the hell else this was before he touched her, because if he touched her he would need to have her, and if he had her he...he could lose control and...He shook his head.

"Do you blame her for how you're feeling, Christian?"

No. "Yes!" God! Thank God it was out, finally! "I don't want to but, I do." He dropped down to his knees. "I do."

Flynn moved away from the bag, crouched. "You need to tell her, Christian. She deserves to know, to understand."

Christian shook his head and in a small voice. "She'll hate me. She'll...leave me." He ran his hands over his face again, through his hair and pulled, hard. "I keep seeing...I keep seeing the van, and the knife and the tape, every time she gets close to me. Every time she touches me..." He closed his eyes. "I can see myself telling her to stay, making her promise and if...if she had listened, if she had stayed in Hyde would have..."

Flynn sighed. This young man was blaming everyone for what happened, himself most of all. "You can't be everywhere, Christian. You can't control everything and you can't predict everything."

"I know." He nodded and the fact that he couldn't protect her from everything was killing him. "I know

But he needed to touch her, he loved her. He needed for her to touch him. But how could he when he was still filled with such rage? Rage at her and at himself. He didn't deserve to touch her, he should never touch her again. Because of him she could have been raped, tortured, killed. Because of his need to control her.

"How do you make a woman listen without beating her," he whispered, more to himself than to Flynn.

"Well, that's a question, isn't it?"


End file.
